


Welcome to the Inquisition, Fenris!

by rehaniah



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F!Hawke is a warrior, F!Hawke is also in love with Fenris, F/M, Fenris doesn't trust mages, I don't think Anders' blowing stuff up helped Fenris get over his trust issues, Party Banter, Poor Fenris, Solas is intrigued by Hawke & Fenris' relationship, That doesn't turn out too well for him though...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:02:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rehaniah/pseuds/rehaniah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanted some Fenris + Solas interaction, because reasons. This is what my muse produced instead...</p>
<p>Or: my version of what would happen if Fenris tagged along with Hawke to Skyhold!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Inquisition, Fenris!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is just basically me wanting to see Fenris and Solas having a chat, but it kind of veered off course a ways… Also, Fenris comes across as a bit of an A-hole in this, just to warn you. What can I say? The guy’s still paranoid about mages ;)

* * *

 

When he’d found out that Varric had managed not only track down but also sneak into Skyhold the Champion of Kirkwall and –far more interestingly from his point of view– her elven partner, Solas couldn’t help but find himself intrigued.

 

Naturally, he had heard about the unusual elf, most notably from Varric. One particular instance had been when the team had just finished off several bandits camped out in the Exalted Plains. Solas had just given a particularly droll comment on how inept someone’s mind must be to think that setting up a camp on the edge of a sheer vertical drop was a good idea, only to have Varric suddenly pipe up with the declaration: “You know who you’d _love_ , Chuckles? My ol’ pal, Fenris. He’s a pointy eared bastard who hates practically everyone too – just like you!”

 

Solas had been quick to respond to the not-so-subtle jibe. “I do not hate ‘practically everyone’, Varric. As a matter of fact, there are several people whose company I find to be quite tolerable. Present company excluded, of course,” he couldn’t resist adding. Since Dorian and the Inquisitor had been busy looting some ways off, his comment had only been heard by the dwarf, who gave a snorting chuckle followed by the exclaimed remark:

 

“See?! That’s exactly the type of thing _he_ would’ve said!”

 

Solas had had to resist the urge to roll his eyes skyward. It obviously wasn’t the first time Varric had mentioned his companions from Kirkwall, but he didn’t do so as often as one might have thought, given all that had happened there. Solas supposes that this was because he’d prefer people to buy his books rather than hear the actual facts... Either way though, Solas had found himself unable to resist the presented opportunity. Within the space of a few seconds he had spoken again, this time in a voice laden with curiosity. “Now that you mention it, I have found myself intrigued by the tales of the elf who had lyrium injected into his skin yet, by all accounts, has suffered none of the ill-effects so regularly experienced by lyrium exposure.” He’d glanced back over at Varric. “By chance, did your… ‘friend’ speak much about the ritual that he underwent, or from what source his unusual immunity stemmed from?”

 

“Oh yeah,” the dwarf had answered immediately. “Ol’ Fenny never stopped going on his past. Honestly, every hour it was like: ‘Hey guys, did I ever tell you about what happened to me back in Tevinter? It’s a great story and I just love talking about it!’”

 

The lines upon Solas’ brow had creased as his gaze betrayed both distrust and disapproval. “I take it you are being sarcastic?” he’d remarked, with a distinctly unimpressed air.

 

For his part, Varric had looked back with all too ‘genuine’ confusion. “What? No, of course not, Chuckles. I’m being serious. Hey, I’ll tell ya what, if I ever find out where he is, I’ll write to him and ask if you two can meet up so you can investigate him for yourself. Trust me, he just _loves_ mages so he’d be more than happy to do it.”

 

“Hm. I’m sure,” was the final, patently unconvinced, comment that Solas had given on the matter.

 

…

 

Now, the very subject of Solas’ musing was with them; had arrived at Skyhold along with the Champion so as to try and find just what had caused the Grey Wardens to disappear and, to that end, both the Champion and he had joined the Inquisition.

 

And as the small party made their way over the swampy ground that constituted Crestwood’s terrain, Solas couldn’t help but steal several glances at his intricately marked kin, as he strode with heedful vigilance alongside the Champion of Kirkwall.

 

After being introduced to them, Solas had quickly discerned that the two were in a romantic relationship – something Varric had failed to mention during his previous reminiscences. The revelation of this had taken Solas slightly by surprise. It was quite rare for such particular races to intermingle, and even rarer for such ones to remain together for any length of time... Yet, reading between the lines and listening to Varric’s interactions with them, it would appear that the female Warrior and white-haired elf had been together since the destruction of the Chantry at Kirkwall. Before that, even.

 

This had only furthered Solas’ curiosity.

 

Unfortunately, whilst he would very much have been interested to speak with Fenris himself, the elf was far from an easy person to initiate interaction with. The truth was that when Solas had arrived at the gates of Skyhold, ready to set out on their latest endeavour, Varric had introduced him with hearty joviality to his old friends and whilst Hawke had given him a friendly wave of greeting, Fenris hadn’t even glanced in his direction. Instead he’d simply declared, with impatience heavy in his voice and a scowl firmly set across his face: “Are we able to get going now? This place reeks of magic.” Without waiting for any kind of response from anyone, the warrior elf had urged his horse forward through the gates, not looking back.

 

For her part, Hawke had held back to explain to the group at large: “Don’t mind him. He’s just a bit tetchy because, well,” she’d shrugged idly, “that’s just what he’s like.” With that, she’d urged her horse after her prickly companion.

 

Soon enough, after only one or two dubious glances between them, the rest of the team had followed suit.

 

On the road, Fenris had said very little except to Varric and Hawke. The former he mostly snarked at when Varric would fire questions at him in blithe disregard for the responses he received. The latter he treated much less caustically, even though a scowl still resided firmly on his features whenever he spoke to her. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the elf wasn’t at all happy to be where he was. Or the company he was with.

 

As the group continued on, Solas determined that the only reason the elf had come to Skyhold at all was because Hawke had been so set on it.

 

And when they came across a group of Venatori, that barely leashed anger only seemed to increase.

 

Whilst Solas had seen warriors fight in unison before, he had never witnessed anything quite like how the Champion and her lover battled their sudden adversaries. Both seemed to unconsciously know what the other was doing and adapted their own movements accordingly. If one took the focus from the front, the other dived round the back so as to slash the opponent’s flank, felling them to their knees before the first severed his head completely from his body. If either one was staggered the other would instantly be there, taking full advantage of the enemy’s brief flare of triumph in order to cut them down to size. More than once one would lead their prey to the blade of their counterpart, feigning this way and that until the other struck with deadly precision from the shadows.

 

Watching them was like watching a deadly dance. With its unearthly climax being that of Fenris punching his gauntleted hand straight _through_ a Venatori mage’s chest and then proceeding to tear out the still beating heart from within.

 

Solas wasn’t the only one whose face bore stunned shock at the unbelievable action. Even the Inquisitor himself seemed taken aback at the astonishing feat.

 

As the bloodied heart had been dropped carelessly to the blood soaked ground, their leader had stammered incredulously: “How… How did you do that?”

 

Fenris had merely given a casual glance in his direction before answering, his tone entirely unapologetic despite his present company. “I don’t like mages. In my opinion, the only good one is a dead one.”

 

Ice green eyes had cast themselves with clear deliberateness over both Solas and Dorian at this statement, and whilst Solas had chosen to remain silent at the clearly antagonistic statement, Dorian had responded with cavalier glibness: “My, what a charmer you are.”

 

The elf hadn’t reacted to the jibe, evidently not at all concerned by the sudden hostility in the atmosphere. The only response he’d given was to Varric, when the dwarf had let out a sigh of consternation and said with a dismal, but ultimately unsurprised, tone across the field: “Boy, you sure do know how to make a good impression, elf.”

 

“It’s a gift,” had been the deadpan answer, causing a shake of the head from Varric, albeit with a snort of amusement, and a glance that would have been weary from Hawke, had it not also so clearly contained an undeniably large amount of deep-seated affection...

 

They’d kept going in a somewhat strained silence, Solas continuing to muse over the contentious warrior until he eventually found himself on the receiving end of an all too fierce, green-eyed glare.  

 

“Is there a reason, mage, why your gaze keeps returning to me?” The unexpected question had the effect of making the whole group suddenly turn their attention to the severely irritated looking Fenris and the recipient of his enquiry.

 

Sadly, before Solas can gather himself to say anything, Varric had piped up. “Oh, Solas just has a very keen interest in what’s under your armour, Broody. Meant to mention it to you earlier.”

 

Immediately Solas is confronted with a startled –but also rather bemused– expression from Hawke, an even more pronounced scowl than the seemingly ever-present one from Fenris, and no less than three pairs of _very_ raised eyebrows, all now pointed unerringly in his direction.

 

“I assure you that is not– I’m not the least bit interested in– That is to say that I mean…” Solas exhales a sharp breath, unable to resist snapping an incensed “Varric!” in the dwarf’s direction as he struggled to find a subtle refute to the wholly unexpected –not to mention wholly inappropriate– quip.

 

All he receives in response is a mirthful chuckle.

 

“Err… Is this something I should be concerned about?” The drawling but ultimately light-hearted question is raised by Hawke, who’s looking over at Solas with a sparkle in her eye. “You know, I have been known to get very jealous over him.” The amused blue gaze cuts to her elven lover even as she sidles closer to entwine her fingers in his. The white-haired elf graces her with a look that may have appeared perturbed, were it not for the underlying warmth barely concealed beneath the surface.

 

“Pfft, can’t say I know why, Hawke,” Varric pipes up yet again. “You could have had your pick of all the eligible bachelors in Kirkwall and instead you chose the broodiest elf that ever graced the Maker’s green earth – he’s even worse than this one.” A squat thumb is abruptly jabbed in the direction of Solas.

 

“I’ve told you before, I do _not_ brood,” Fenris growls towards his shorter companion.

 

“Oh please, you are even more broody now than when we last met. If you were to get any more broody–”

 

“Since I know from experience that this could take a while, may I ask you _why_ you’re so interested in what’s underneath my fiancé’s armour?” Hawke’s light-hearted voice effortlessly overrides her friends bickering as she returns her focus to Solas himself.

 

Who would have been happy to answer her, had his mind not latched onto the word she’d just used. “Fiancé?” he found himself questioning.

 

Varric seemed to catch on at the same time, exclaiming right on the heels of Solas: “Hey, what?! When did _that_ happen?”

 

Hawke’s expression rapidly becomes that of one who’s made a severe misstep. “Oh crap, sorry!” she exclaims, encompassing the whole group but most of all her ‘fiancé’, who was now looking at her in a darkly exasperated manner. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything until after the world was saved. Or destroyed.” She shrugs carelessly. “You know, whichever.”

 

“You’re kidding, Broody!” The dwarf bounded over to lay a vigorously companionable slap against the spiked metal that constituted Fenris’ armour. “You actually got up the nerve to ask the Champion of Kirkwall to marry _you_?!” Breaking into hearty laughter, Varric gave the elf another slap whilst Hawke proceeded to remonstrate with her friend.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, Varric?” she scolds. “Honestly, it may sell you a lot of books but it’s bloody annoying!”

  
“Hey, it’s hardly my fault – you have to give the people what they want.” The dwarf now jabs a thumb at the Inquisitor, stood looking on with Dorian a few feet away. “Ask his herald-ness here, he understands.”

 

“This is true,” inputs their leader casually. “No matter how many times I tell people _not_ to call me something –be it The Inquisitor, The Herald of Andraste or even, Maker forbid, Your Highness– it only seems to make them that much more eager to label you with a title.”

 

“See? The people need their heroes, Hawke. It’s a fact of life.” Varric’s gaze returns to his friend, his demeanour one of satisfied self-assuredness.

 

“That doesn’t mean that–” Breaking off her exasperated reply, Hawke’s brow suddenly creases. “Hold on, how did this manage to become about me? Weren’t we supposed talking about what’s under Fenris’ clothes?” She looks in the direction of Fenris, as if for clarification.

 

“Oh yes, we were. Pray tell, why _do_ you want to look under his clothes, Solas?” Dorian prompts eyeing him pointedly.

 

“I do not want to – to do that! I assure you both…” Solas tries again to explain. Yet for once his quick thinking ability seemed to have deserted him.

 

Hawke smirks.

  
“Then why is it you seem to be particularly interested in me, mage? Because the last time someone with magic in their blood showed such an interest, it didn’t end well. For them.” In contrast to everyone else, Fenris’ expression doesn’t hold one hint of amusement. In fact, it rather looked as though he was working up to take a shot at Solas.

 

“I meant no disrespect,” he replies placidly, though not fearfully. For despite the fact that the tattooed fighter clearly was a force to be reckoned with, Solas did not scare easily. He manages to explain calmly what the situation was. “It is simply the fact that I find your unique abilities rather… intriguing.”

 

“You mean the lyrium that was burned into my skin by a power-hungry Tevinter Magister.” Again the cold gaze cuts to Dorian, who meets it without shame.

  
“Ah, yes. There are a lot of those back in the homeland,” he comments, giving a frivolous twirl of his staff.

 

“Which is why I’m sure the world wouldn’t miss one more.” The growl was almost as deep as the scowl above it. And just as serious.

 

“You’ve got it all wrong, my good man. _I’m_ one of the good guys now. Hence the reason why I’m traipsing through this sodden landscape with you burning a hole in my back.”

 

“You may claim to be on their side for now. But I trust a _Tevinter_ like I trust a sleeping dragon. If you were a wise leader,” Fenris’ gaze cuts sharply to the Inquisitor, “you’d kill them both before they even had chance to draw breath.”

 

It’s Hawke who defuses the situation. Or tries to at least, placing herself in the middle of the group and trying to avert the ever increasingly heated stares. “Okay, okay. We’re playing nice at the moment, remember? We do have a much larger task at hand, after all.” She makes a point to especially encompass Fenris with this statement, whose response is not nearly as placid.

 

“I’ll play nice when you stop experiencing the need to save worthless people at every opportunity. Til then I suggest we move on,” he says to the rest of the group. “Otherwise we’re never going to see the end of this. And as for my ‘unique abilities’,” he snarls, whirling on Solas, “I suggest you ask your Magister friend here. It was Tevinter _blood magic_ that did this to me and since they teach it to their offspring from birth, I’ve no doubt he can give you more insight into it than I could.” Without anything further, Fenris turns and strides past them all, disappearing over the crest of the hill in front of them in a matter of moments.

 

For quite a while, no one says anything. Finally, Hawke breaks the silence with a sentence that manages to be both ironic and genuine at the same time. “…You know, if any of you want to come to the wedding, you’re more than welcome.”

  
The group’s collective gaze slides to her unperturbed one. It’s Varric who speaks first.

 

“I can certainly tell the happiness is spilling over inside him.”

 

Hawke waves away the comment. “He’s just antsy,” she replies. “He didn’t want me to come and put myself in danger again. He wanted even less to come himself, especially since the Inquisition has allied itself with the mages. Plus, he hasn’t had a good drink in a while, which never helps.” She adds this final piece of information with an air of entirely amiable acceptance.

 

“Your marriage sounds like it’s going to be a blast, Hawke.”

 

Varric’s tone is the epitome of droll irony, yet, when it comes, Hawke’s reply holds nothing but genuine longing, enriched only by a wistful kind of excitement. “I know. I can’t wait.”

 

The Champion seems not to notice the looks the rest of the party send over to her. Namely a potent mix of dubious incredulity and not so subtle disconcertion.

 

With an unspoken accord they set off again, following in the wake of the one Solas had originally been intent on focusing on. But as he glances over at the sure, easy pace of the female warrior, once again chatting quite happily to Varric about his latest book, he wonders if maybe Fenris wasn’t the only special partner in that particular relationship…

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Incidentally, I know Dorian says he isn’t a magister in the game but the way I figure it is that Hawke and Fenris haven’t been around long enough to get the full scoop on everyone yet, so Fenris naturally just assumes that Tevinter + Mage = Magister. Poor paranoid Fenris ;)


End file.
